Ellen
peeked out between the leaves, then sighed. A small herd of juvenile
cauliflowers milled around in a clearing. Most had strips of of
black fabric tied around their stalks – apparently this was a
gathering of some kind of vegetative cult. One hopped up on a stump
and the rest quieted down. As the leader began to speak, Ellen
started to sidle around to the north side, closest to the road.
About
halfway there she stepped on a brittle worm. The head cauliflower
thrust a floret towards her, screamed gibberish at the top of its
lungs, and jumped up and down frenziedly. Its followers ran at her,
their lateral florets rotating menacingly.
Holy
compost! She recognized this behavior. These weren't delinquent
young cauliflowers, they were albino midget ninja broccoli stalks in
full flower. She turned and ran.
10
minutes later she burst through the door of the cooperative
pipefitters workshop. "Get the cheese sauce, Ma! We got a full
scale invasion on our hands." No need to say what
was invading.
Micha
paled, put a hand out to steady herself. The CPW was scarcely
equipped to deal with this.
"Ellen.
Run. Head for the river."
-----
The crudities swept everything before them to the bank of the Jack.
Michon
wiped her brow and squinted at the further bank. "My whole
livelihood's tied up in the CPW, Phil," she growled, "this
better work." He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Don't
worry, Ma," Ellen said, 'we got 'em right where we want 'em."
As
if that were a signal, the maddened vegetable hordes poured into the
water and began swimming strongly across the current. A rocket shot
up from the river terrace, exploding high above.
Upriver,
the floodgates opened.
Soon,
the defenders could hear the broccoli chittering maniacally, the
leaders scarcely 20 m from the riverbank, their spears weaving figure
eights in the golden sun. Where was the flood?
A
whitish tint swept downstream and the cries of the broccoli took on a
note of alarm. The vegetables, one by one, stopped swimming. They
floated inert in the suddenly sluggish river, and the defenders waded
out from the bank, spearing the broccoli and gorging themselves on
their erstwhile enemies.
Later,
lethargy born of stress and an excess of dairy products washed over
them. They reclined on the grass.
Phil
sucked his fingers. "Monterey does it again."
Ellen
smacked her lips. "Ma? Could we grow some? Little ones?"
The end
Publ. Daily Cabal 2007
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